What You Loathe
by Jessica Pendragon
Summary: She has never been on to give up so easily. (How I like to imagine the dialogue options after Crestwood play out.)


_How I like to imagine the dialogue options after Crestwood play out for Keela and Solas. i.e.-in the angstiest manner possible. I also never got these in the game for some reason so I'm extra bitter._

She does not believe you.

 _I have distracted you from your duty. It won't happen again._

There is shock there. Confusion, disappointment, anger. But there is that ever present spark of stubbornness that says she will not let this go so easily.

Why would she? You have been playing this game for too long. Pulling. Pushing. A tug of war that only ended in you forfeiting. She is not surprised that you are trying this move again, but she does not understand. You must make her, but you can't bear to speak anymore, to twist this jagged thing already piercing your heart.

When did you become so weak? You who brought down gods and remade the world.

 _You change everything._

You manage to escape her attention for a day before she follows your scent and moves in for the kill. Oh, she is a fierce thing, yellow flames in her eyes and a clever smirk on her lips as if you are something to devour. Bare faced and teeth bared. Long has she had her fangs in you and you've welcomed the pain of knowing you could still feel anything like this.

She moves forward to kiss you, arms clasped behind her back in playful imitation, and you have never faced anything more difficult than those two steps away from her offering. There's a drop of hurt in her eyes, but it is quickly consumed by the fire of her determination.

"I'd like to discuss what happened before, Solas."

"I'm afraid that would not be appropriate at this time. We must focus on what truly matters," you say as you glare somewhere beyond her shoulder.

She sighs, stepping back into your line of sight. "It would help me if you could explain why."

"The answers would only lead to more questions, an emotional entanglement that would benefit neither of us."

 _Ar lath ma vhenan._

It is already too late. Parts of you are tangled up in each other so much it is difficult to tell the strands apart. The only way to be free is to cut through them all, rend and fray your souls in a way that can never be mended again. You must destroy something so beautiful to save the whole.

"You really don't let anybody see under that polite mask you wear, do you?" she says, teasing. Make her understand, make her see. This is the only way to save her.

"You saw more than most," you reply and watch the confidence on her face waver. Your body shivers, straining with the want to hold her and remove the crease from between her brows with soft words and softer caresses. There is a tense moment of silence between you before she shakes her head and walks from the room.

You breathe out, but it is not a declaration of victory. You know this is not over.

The following day you barely hear her walk into the rotunda even though her whole body appears weighed down. You know what happened this morning beyond the mirrors in a world of mist and revelations. Mythal yet lives and holds the leash to a bird who could not be caged by anything but herself.

This time you do take a step forward for the pain in her eyes is something different than what you put there, but she recoils. She has been touched enough by false idols today. It is a sickness to know it is you who has caused this. Not today, not yesterday, but thousands of days gone by when you thought your ideas were the only ideals worth keeping. She pleads for understanding, eyes cast down, chest quivering with broken breath.

 _It means I have not forgotten the kiss._

It is for her, for her people, for this world you left to ruin. It is because you love her so fully you drown in it sometimes and she is the one perfect thing in this imperfect world you have created. Oh how you wish to tell her, to let her see what you keep hidden, but you place another brick upon this wall you're building until more pieces of her disappear.

"The blame is mine, not yours. It was irresponsible and selfish of me. Let that be enough."

She nods, too distracted by her chains, but even as her will is beaten, she is not defeated yet. Her eyes are wide and glittering, fear choking the fire within. She is hurting and it is you who she would cling to for comfort, yet you do not move again. She must think you betray her with every passing second you stand there separate and apart, but it is for her.

"Will you talk to me when we are finished with Corypheus?"

"If we are both still alive afterwards, then I promise you, everything will be made clear." It is a foolish thing to promise for you do not know if it can be kept. Is this lie any better? Will you bind her with one more inescapable thing? But you cannot look upon her like this and offer nothing. It is not much, but let it be enough. Please, let it be enough.

When she leaves you lean forward as if to follow, caught in the well of her misery, but you remain firm. You can rescue her from this infernal fate if you let this go. Hurt her to save her and hope there is just a small part of yourself left to save in the end.

She returns after the next sunset and her steps are quicker, sharper, spurred on by the anger covering every inch of her. She has turned her grief into something that can fight back. The fire in her eyes is a storm and you are thankful to face her rage instead of her despair. You can deal with anger. You weathered the wrath of the god of vengeance and escaped unscathed. How can you falter now?

 _You are not what I expected._

She demands answers, hands smoking with the heat of her fury, and you regurgitate all your practiced lines with barely a quiver of regret. "Harden your heart to a cutting edge and put that pain to good use against Corypheus."

A growl rolls from her mouth, her lips snarling as she stalks closer. You do not retreat this time. You must face her and show no weakness, give no room. She cannot be a part of what is to come. You are not sure what you would do if she were to attack you. Would you submit, kiss her boots in supplication, kiss your way up and over and across her body until all your sins were laid bare against her skin? Would you fight back against her and sacrifice what she is to you in order to restore what was lost, but lose what is worth saving in the process?

"I don't know why I even tried to talk with you!" she screams.

"Because you are hurt." You match her tone, words spitting out with all the pain festering inside. "Because I made a selfish mistake. Because you deserve better. Pick any reason."

She throws her hands up in the air and stomps out of the rotunda and you wonder if this is her final sign of surrender. Part of you prays that she will not return and torment you further. She wastes precious time on you, an apostate with no people and no home, when the whole world trembles at her feet. She does not know how little of her time you deserve, but why would she? Even you are not sure where the truth ends and the lies begin anymore.

She does not return the next day.

Nor the next.

You tell yourself this was your plan, that your solitude is for best. Her best.

 _It would be kinder in the long run._

Another part of you looks for her, listens for the familiar rhythm of her movement. Your mind travels to the cadence of her laughter and her blissful sighs instead of concentrating on the words of your books. You remember the way her flesh feels beneath yours, the way she would cling to you so desperately before letting go, and can no longer hold the edge of your paintbrush.

And you curse this growing part of yourself that calls out to her with a lonesome howl into the bitter wind, that begs for her not give up on you. To not leave you alone to walk this world when you have found something in it to believe in. She is an ache in your bones and her absence makes you feel every long year you've spent wandering with so little understanding of what it means to be whole.

"Solas."

You startle out of the comfy chair and rise to greet her. She stands across the table and you wonder how long she's been there, how much misery she might have seen on your face.

"Inquisitor," you reply and there is only a slight break in your delivery. "How can I-"

"Just listen to me, Solas." She pauses, no doubt seeing if you will interrupt, but your mouth is closed out of morbid curiosity. Everything is swirling her eyes. They are twin whirlpools with little chance of escape, so you clutch to the back of your chair and hold on.

Her gaze glances down at the mark on her hand. It sings out in greeting and adoration for its newest master. And even though the power is no longer yours, you still feel that love pulling on your heart. "It won't be long now, I can feel it. He'll come for me. And before he does, if I don't get the chance…"

She takes a breath and you brace for the impact. "You were right. You did distract me from my duty. When I've lost sight of who I am, you were there to remind me. Not Herald, not Inquisitor, Your Worship, Basalit-an, First-thaw. Not a symbol or a hero, but flesh and bone. Just a person who can still laugh and love, hurt and feel. Just me. I needed it so much and I…I will never forget it."

You shake your head. No! No, you do not deserve this. You will take her anger, her determination, her fear, but you cannot take her gratitude and pity for dredging her through this muck and mire. She does not understand the unworthy creature you are. How can she believe there is anything about you that deserves her affection after all you have done?

 _You are unique._

She gives a smile at your silence and you know it would taste of decaying hope if you were to run your lips across hers. It is a poison seeping into your veins just to see it. Her feet move towards yours, too close and too far beyond your reach. "I won't be selfish if this is what you need in return. I will respect your decision, I owe you that much."

"I…" You swallow and it feels like broken glass sticks sharp in your throat. Every part of you that she has made mortal and real begs you to reach out and drown in the sound of her heartbeats. But you call upon the beast inside and become the trickster her people fear so, the creature that no tangible thing could love. You have twisted fate around your finger with an easy grin, betrayed your kin with a knife they never saw. You can become what you loathe, for her.

"Thank you, Inquisitor." Her eyes grow pained at the title and you know you must use it above all others to drive the wedge between your heart and hers. "Let me know if I can be of any more help in planning our fight against Corypheus."

Defeat finally flares across her features like a broken banner. You witnessed the fall of Arlathan first hand. You have seen the last bloody battle of the Dales through memories of the Fade. You have heard your people cry out in pools of blood, but in this moment none of it seems as terrible to you as her surrender.

"Fine, so be it. If that is what you want," she says and exits with head held high and fists trembling, and the room grows dim as she takes what light you kept in your heart away. You crumple against the desk and cover your face, but there is no hiding from what you have done.

What you want?

What you want is to kneel before her and beg for her forgiveness. To bask in this wondrous love she offers like a candle in the darkness. You want to follow her towards a new future bright with possibilities and unburdened by the past and become the person she believes you to be. The one she deserves. You want to grow old with her, to live with her eternal until all the stars burn away. You want to see her smile in the eyes of your children and know you have created something wonderful. You want so many things and none of them are this.

 _Well, we don't always get what we want. Do we?_


End file.
